Aftermath
by Samara007
Summary: Victoria's reaction after learning she has been cut out of her father's will. AU since the actual episode hasn't aired yet. Mostly J.T.'s pov. Rating is for language only.


"Victoria?" he questioned. She entered the house slowly, head down, hair shielding her face. The slope of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the way she held herself upright as if by sheer force of will, every line of her body radiated tension and distress. J.T thought he had memorized every possible facial expression his wife had, but the frozen set of her mouth, the distance in her eyes, were all new to him and he nearly shivered with foreboding.

"In a minute," her words were stilted and forced. "Where's Reed?"

"He's asleep," he crossed over to her and reached out, needing to touch her, outlining the curve of her shoulders in a slow caress.

She broke away without meeting his eyes. "I need to see him, just...I need to see him," she repeated herself as if unsure she had spoken aloud.

"Okay." J.T. trailed her to the nursery, watching her careful steps, his detective's instincts taking in the creases in her dress, as if she had spent hours slumped over. Impossible. Vicky never slouched, never lowered her defenses, never appeared less than strong to anyone except him. Even when she thought her brother dead, he was the only one to see her cry. He watched the restless, unconscious way she flexed her fingers, fists clenching and releasing. One of her nails, the one on the smallest finger of her left hand, was jagged, torn to shreds. What the hell had happened? Mentally, he ran through a list of possibilities...a confrontation with Sabrina, something to do with Nikki and David, Nicholas...the list of people she let close enough to hurt her like this was very small.

He watched as she silently opened the door to Reed's bedroom, and slipped inside. The moonlight pooled in from the window and caught on the tears gathered in her eyes. Bending over the crib, she gently traced the contours of the sleeping baby's face with one finger, murmuring quietly, too quietly for him to hear, even as he watched from the doorway. Victoria took a steadying breath, laid a small kiss on her index finger and transferred it to Reed's cheek before turning to leave.

She made it just past the door. Just past the door and she fell to her knees, dress pooling around her bent figure, unconsiously graceful even in her distress. Alarmed, J.T. dropped to the ground, encircling her prone form in his arms, holding her up, one hand tangling in her long brown curls. "Please, Vicky," he begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

She wasn't crying, although her eyes were overbright, almost feverish. She gasped in a choking breath, trying to find air, to find words. "I love you, J.T," she whispered fervently.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. They had never really been verbally demonstrative, not the kind of couple that exchanged heartfelt declarations at every parting. It wasn't necessary. They bantered, and laughed, and knew they were loved. "I know," he said now. "I love you, too. You know I do." And oh god, but he did. Loved this woman in a way he never knew existed. She cut to the marrow of his bones and embedded herself so deep he knew he'd never dislodge her. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

She made a sound deep in her throat, choking on words fighting to come out. "Dad..."

Of fucking course. Victor fucking Newman. He should have known. No one in the world had more power to hurt Victoria than the father she idolized, even when she refused to admit it, even when he refused to behave like one. Internally, J.T. roundly cursed Victor with every profanity he knew, which all in all was quite an impressive list. Outwardly, he kept his touch light, his hand soothing on her back. "What'd he do?" he asked, almost impassively. Could be any number of things, but it would have to be pretty bad for her to react so... And he couldn't even find the words to describe it. Had never seen her like this. Lost, almost.

She pressed nearer to him, and he held her tighter. They were almost of a height, and she was too tall to really curl up in his lap, but he pulled her close enough that all of her weight was resting on him, so she didn't have to hold herself together at all, so he could take as much of the burden as possible.

It came out in a strained whisper. "He took us out of his will. Me and Nick both. And J.T., we have to move out. Leave our home." Her voice broke and now the tears came. Fast and furious, flooding her face and soaking his shirt as she turned into his chest and cried like a heartbroken little girl.

Stunned, he could only hold her, crooning nonsense into her ear and rubbing her back. Too much. Finally, too much. Victor had pushed her out of her company, the place she had worked her entire career, her birthright. Now he was pushing her, throwing her, out of her home and his life. "Oh, Vicki," he said helplessly as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. So sorry."

"Don't leave," she suddenly demanded, hiccuping the words through her torrent of tears and tightening her arms almost convulsively around him.

"What?" he asked, confused by the tumble of her thoughts.

"So many people...probably Brad too, cared...jobs, money..." Gasping, she couldn't keep her words straight. "They cared that I was a Newman. I'm not, anymore, no more Victor..."

"Stop right there," he said firmly, forcing her back to look at him, making her meet his eyes. "Victoria, I am not any of those people. I am definitely not Brad Carlton." The name twisted on his lips, harsh and forceful. Hands on her shoulders now, as she stared up at him with her huge eyes, lashes curving against her cheek in a way that almost undid him. "I love you for who you are. For your grace, and your energy, and your strength. I couldn't care less what your last name is. You have my name now, anyway."

She fell back against him and he rocked her gently. "I know," she said in a very small voice. "I know, I"m sorry."

"Shh, it's okay." A moment of silence settled around them as they swayed together, still on the floor in the hallway. So quiet that he could hear Reed's soft breathing through the closed nursery door. A thought came to him. It would be so good. Just escape. Her relationship with her parents was rocky at best, now any interaction with her father would only bring her pain, and he just couldn't stand the thought of that, of her being broken down on a daily basis.

"Victoria," he started softly. "Let's just leave. Move somewhere else." He held his breath, waiting for her to deny him, waiting for her to insist that she could take it, whatever her father threw at her next, although they both knew really, she couldn't.

"Where would we go?" She asked consideringly, the edges of her words slurred from crying, but strength peeking back into her voice.

"Wherever you want. Anywhere. Even back to Italy, if that would make you happy. I'm sure we could find a fun way to teach me Italian," he smiled, and was rewarded with a very small, but amused giggle from her. His heart lightened immediately, and some of the tension was broken. "Come on," J.T. helped her up, took her hand and led her back to the living room, settling them both on the couch, Victoria resting comfortably against him with her feet tucked under.

"What about Nick?" she asked.

"Well, I guess he can come too. Does he speak Italian?" he teased her gently.

Another small giggle. Thank god. "Really," she pressed.

"Only a plane ride away, from anywhere," he answered her seriously this time. "Or a phone call."

As if on cue, the tinny ring of her cell phone sounded, smothered slightly inside her purse. "Don't answer it," he suggested, smoothing her hair.

She pulled away with a tired sigh, running a hand over her eyes, getting rid of any remaining trace of tears. Ready to be strong again. "I have to. It might be Nick."

On her feet now, she crossed to where her bag had been dropped haphazardly on the table, and felt around inside until the sleek metal fell into her palm. She pressed a button to answer, and a strange expression crossed her face.

"I'm sorry, and you are?" she questioned sharply. "Ah, I see. From the Genoa City Post." She locked eyes with her husband, a thousand words unspoken flowing between them, promises made and held fast (safe, family, baby, love); past, present and future hanging in her gaze. "Victoria Newman? I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name."


End file.
